


Bullet Holes

by moon_to_star_almhm



Category: K-pop
Genre: Bullets, Fantasy, Gang, Gangs, Gen, Guns, Wings, bullet, drugtrafficking, gun - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23303740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_to_star_almhm/pseuds/moon_to_star_almhm
Summary: "Life can be fucking hard, but you gotta deal with it."Aire Valk is a feisty girl.  Starting from a young age, she grew up in a violent home.  Police were bad, hospitals asked too many questions, and coming home with scratches made you weak.  Come home with bullet holes, though, and you were the prize of the family.Being the eldest by far, it didn't take Aire long to get wrapped up into her parents' business.  She doesn't know how she'll do, but she's hoping to keep her family safe.(Inspired by BAP's music video for One Shot but it's not... actually a fanfic.  Sorry.)
Relationships: Henn Valk /Rita Valk





	Bullet Holes

Standing in the tower, staring down at the ground below, Aire was trembling. Her father stood to her side with a hand on her shoulder and her mother was farther back, turned away.  
Henn Valk, Aire's father, was silent with words but loud with his eyes. He wanted her to just jump already, to leap. He nudged her shoulder a bit, but Aire flinched back.  
"Go on. It's your time, jump. If you do it right, you won't regret it. You've said you were going to for two years now, what's stopping you now?" Aire stared down. She had never had a fear of heights, she still didn't know, but worry was starting to set in. What if she didn't do it right? What if she slipped when she jumped? What if she couldn't move in the air?  
When she wasn't completely focused, her father pushed her off. She yelped as she began spiraling toward the ground, watching cracked, dark tan pavement spin. Rita Valk was crying atop the tower. She might never see her daughter again.  
Finally, against the wind and her own fear, Aire opened her wings. She was snagged harshly with the sudden area to catch her and she floated for a second before realizing if she didn't start flying now, she wouldn't have the chance again.  
Aire flew herself back up to the tower, being crushed into a hug by Rita. For the first time in her life, Henn looked somewhat proud of her.  
Aire understands why and it made her feel good. Henn and Rita were two very different people. Rita was from a gang called the Fornworth, an outcast of such and she's since been left behind. Forns, despite their name, are highly low class and treated as some of the worst. They had no abilities to set them apart, no advantages.  
Henn, however, was from the Direwick gang. As a Wicken, he had the wings to match. While it would seem to some, in fact, most people, that Direwicks would be the top of their power, they were barely above the Forns. Wickens, though possessing such an amazing physical attribute as wings, were very passive creatures until recent years.  
It used to be a tradition for Wickens to have surgery to remove their wings, something done by the wealthy. It was highly respected and every child wanted the surgery. That was until the Forns, the only gang lower than them, tried to attack to take their title. Once fending them off, Wickens realized they had power like no other.  
The tradition was suddenly repulsed. Henn had wanted it when he was a young boy, but the long-waging war that began made him think twice. His wings, big, powerful, and majestic, became his sense of pride.  
Aire was the first generation to be taught to fly. Children used to be praised by families for the less they moved their wings, punished for moving them too much. None of their parents knew when to teach them, so ten became the common age. Aire was already flying at nine, whereas many of her peers couldn't fly until 11.  
Aire had always had great control of her wings. She inherited her father's, the big and strong wings with slick black fathers that clung to her skin with unrelenting force. Many families had never taken care of their wings, leading to deterioration. Her father, though hating his wings for most of his life, still made sure they appeared as good as he did.  
Since her wings had more muscle than average kids, she didn't need to exercise them nearly as much. They were created strong enough to carry her, much different from other children. Her father was a direct descendant of High Flyers, an ancient group of Wickens who hunted from the clouds. This meant their wings were very sturdy to hold them in the wind and moisture of the high air. Henn has stated he may be one of few left with their trait.  
High Flyers were generally very busy, they rarely had children. Soon after their job was no longer needed and their grandchildren were being born, wings started to become unwanted, meaning many of those rare children also had no kids, in order to not subject their children to their ill fate. It was lucky that Henn's trait had survived hundreds to thousands of years of disapproval. 

"I think now is a good time you learned some more important things than flying," Henn says. Aire looks down as he hands her a pair of black leather gloves. She slips them on, following him.  
They walk for a long time through the many alleys of the Direwick. If Aire had to guess, she'd say close to two hours. Finally, through their silence and the town, they reached an old barn. It was worn down, had scrapes on every wall, and the little remaining paint was peeling. Aire couldn't quite tell what color it had once been, but red seemed to be a good guess.  
"Don't tell your mother about this," Henn says as they enter. Inside, hay was littered on the ground and wooden tables were spread around randomly. They wandered to one table in the corner. In the opposite corner, five glass bottles sat on the table and a pile of them was underneath it.  
When Aire looked to the table before her, she saw pieces of a pistol. After three hours, she had learned how to assemble and take apart the gun, load it, and found out she had amazing aim. Even while walking, while running, while flying, she busted one hundred bottles in 103 shots, four misses and one somehow double shot. 

Rita didn't know that Henn didn't have an actual job. His 'job' was walking to the barn, speaking with his gang mates for six hours, and walking back. They usually planned crimes like robbery, many were pickpockets any other time. Aire quickly got sucked into the life, being the one to climb through window thanks to her small size to open the door. Aire, being an excellent gunman after two years of training, even though she was only 17, generally stood to watch.  
Rita had no idea that the people always wanted for gun murders were her daughter and husband. Henn claimed to own a company and made up all the information that Rita believed it. The supposed company was just his organization in the gang. Rita hated gang business, so she never suspected her husband to be such a vital part of the gang's existence.  
However, one morning, Aire's 4-year-old brother Tarvi came to Rita with the newspaper. More gang reports, that's all their town ever reported on. She skipped most of the article until she got to the last page, eyes bulging from her head in shock at the photo. Her daughter and husband: wanted. 

Her pistol was cocked and loaded, held before her as she stood in a powerful stance. Arms held forward on the gun, legs sturdy and just shoulder-width apart, wings clenched back to give less area to hit.  
Beside her stood her uncle figure and her best friend in the gang, Arti Kask and Ille Laar. Both had similar guns, pointed towards to the same enemy. After an unsuccessful robbery, one new gang member was followed back to their barn-base. Police arrived shortly after. There were probably 30 of them, guns drawn, hiding behind their cars.  
"I'm going to take flight the first pop I hear." Aire mutters under her breath. Ille and Arti both nod shallowly. "Go."  
Three rounds were fired systematically, one from Arti and two from Ille, itching for a fight. Pop, Aire's wings flapped hard, sending her up into the air, pop, her eyes were trained on the police officers trying to go around the side of the building, pop, they paused and Aire had her gun ready. Pop bang, the two officers at the side door fell.  
Blood was already amassed at the scene. There weren't many people nearby but those who were didn't take long to get out. Ille and Arti stood front line, shooting as many rounds as they could into the crowd. Arti was 43, he had almost run the gang for half of his life. He knew the life of crime well, and he was the mastermind behind every robbery.  
Ille, despite being just a year older than Aire, had a history of fights. She learned to box and wrestle at only seven years old and took that to beat anyone who gave her a nasty look. When she was taught to handle a gun, the first thing she did was climb the trees and hunt.  
Her aim was almost comparable to Aire's, 100 bottles down in 111 shots, no doubles. She had perfect aim when standing still and was good enough to hit what was essentially her target when moving. Ille had a scar dug into her lower left stomach where'd she'd been shot by her stepfather in a drunken rage. She was the prize of her family.  
Aire held Ille in high respects and took this bloody battle as a way to prove herself. Red ooze covered the floor at just five officers down. When Aire glanced over, she had managed a shot to the left eye of both officers by the side door she'd killed, even while flying. Her aim was utterly true.  
However, flying can be a weakness. For Aire, it become one quickly. An officer in the back shot and it burrowed through her right wing. She spiraled down for a few seconds, memories flashing back to the fall from the tower. She managed to still evade most of the shots at her, but she was struck twice more in her left wing and once in her right collarbone.  
Once on the ground, she crashed onto her right shoulder. She couldn't move her dominant arm anymore, which lead to her shooting with only her left. She shot every officer she could see. She didn't dodge bullets, she took her bullet holes with pride. If she survived, she'd be the heir to an unforeseen throne, and if she died, she died protecting her father.  
Blood rushed her limbs and face. She took a bullet to the breast and sternum, a bullet to the thigh, to the foot, and one grazed the top of her wing close enough to burn it. The police's aim seemed to be much worse than hers, but in a small town that was aching to put men out on the field, it was to be expected.  
A shot to the jaw was what finally brought her crashing down to the floor. She didn't even stumble, she fell with her same pride. To know she'd taken so many shots without falling yet. Limping, leaning over, holding her wounds, yes, but this was the first a shot had made her incapable. 

Aire woke in the bathtub of her house. She was in the basement bathroom, somewhere her family rarely ventured, it was her father's space. Her wounds were healing, bandaged completely, though they were over her clothes she still had on. Her throat was dry and her body ached, she couldn't speak even if she wanted to.  
She tried to pull herself up but collapsed back into the tub. There was no water, though her clothes were damp, so she figured there must have been at one point. Aire was starving hungry and she felt thirsty, her head pounded in a headache and her vision was blurry and hazy.  
Aire reached over and, with all the strength she could manage, banged on the wall of the bathroom. It hurt her hand, but she had been through worse. She did this until Arti came rushing in.  
"Hush! Hush!" He whispered aggressively, a finger over his lips. She did. "You wanna know what's going on, right?" Aire nods as best as she can, though it surely wasn't much. "You passed out from blood loss at the shooting and I did, too. When I came, too, I was able to get you home under the cover of night with a few other members who were watching for more police. Your mother is freaking out upstairs, she doesn't know you're here. You're believed to be dead, let's keep it that way for now."  
He helped her stand up and turned on the shower for her, putting a metal fold-up chair in the shower with her. He then left, locking the door and giving her a towel, robe, and medicine. After two hours, she managed to finish her shower and shut the water off. She dried herself from the chair and rewrapped all her wounds. Once done with that, she pulled herself up against her aching body and slipped the robe on.  
Arti was just outside the door with an outfit for her. She went back into the bathroom and put it on, struggling highly and resting on the toilet and counter for mostly all of it. "I'll take you upstairs. Your mother is going to scream, but I can explain everything there." Aire nods, limping along with him.  
When Rita saw her daughter, she did screech for a second before sobbing and clinging to her in a hug. Aire was in too much pain to really hug behind, all she managed was half an arm around the back.  
Rita showed Aire the newspapers of the past three days as Aire drank half a gallon of milk on her own. The first described the massacre and bloodshed in decently good detail. This was when Aire learned both Ille and Henn were dead, or at least, believed to be. However, she was believed to be, dead, too.  
The gang had moved all of the bodies away by the time more police had shown up to take them. In the three days since, none had been found. It was highly unlikely any of them were alive, seeing as how no hospital anywhere close to them had a shot patient, but just in case they were, they were wanted highly. Aire was among that long list.  
Rita explained that she hadn't know Aire was home until then, and that she also hadn't seen Henn since. However, Arti sighed and finally fessed up.  
"Henn and Ille did die. Ille was gunned down completely, she tried to stand in front of me a lot. Henn... his left wing was shot so bad it almost fell off. After the battle, he couldn't handle losing a wing, and he shot himself with a fatal wound to the head. Both had honorable gang burials in the woods behind the base. We would have invited you and Aire along, but she was unconscious and I know you hate anything gang-related."  
Aire sighs. She, too, knew her mother did not like the gang business in town, she hated it. It was likely because she was from the bottom of the barrel. Still, Aire loved the closeness of it all, everybody knew everybody. She had guaranteed friends in the gang, people with common interests who would also help her provide for herself, though albeit through stealing other's providings.  
"Who's going to run the gang now? I know you don't want to, and Dad's dead." Aire says. Rita was astonished how little it affected her. She had thought that Aire would be grieving but she didn't offer a single tear.  
"There are three guys your pa was close to who could take over, but we've already agreed we want to hand it to you. You were his heir to the throne, you survived front lines on the field, and you have the wings of a warrior." Arti claims. Aire sighs.  
"I'll take it."  
"I guess you're not a princess anymore. You're a queen, with bullet holes."


End file.
